


How Our Muscles, Bones, and Sinews Tangle

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-03
Updated: 2009-05-03
Packaged: 2017-10-14 09:41:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there’s one thing his brother certainly isn’t, it’s delicate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Our Muscles, Bones, and Sinews Tangle

Gilbert’s body is hard and wiry against his, all lean sinew and muscle; these days, he doesn’t have his famed military anymore, but his body is still a weapon, honed and efficient. He reaches forward to trace the edges of an old scar—from a broadsword, perhaps?—feeling a shiver pass through Gilbert’s body at his touch.

It’s been decades since Ludwig grew out of his gangly younger years, but some part of his mind still registers it as odd that he seems so much bigger than Gilbert—broader in the chest, taller. He’d be foolish to think that it makes much of a difference, in the first place; Gilbert can still take him down in hand-to-hand without too much trouble, despite being past the peak of his power as a country.

But bound and blindfolded as he is—his arms stretched above him and tied to the headboard, arms straining against the restraints as he pushes into Ludwig’s touch, cursing softly—there’s a strange vulnerability at work that takes Ludwig aback. It’s almost frightening, to cup the sharp cut of Gilbert’s hipbone and to have the word “delicate” come to mind—really, if there’s one thing his brother certainly isn’t, it’s delicate. Gilbert is rough and brash, and far more resilient than he should be, forever refusing to kneel to anyone.

But what’s perhaps even more frightening is the knowledge that Gilbert—likes this. Likes being under his hands, at his mercy, and trusts him with his body and his pride.

That revelation had come as a surprise to Ludwig, to say the least, the moment of realization stark in his mind. In a fit of exasperation, Gilbert having managed to pester him incessantly as he was trying to get work done, Ludwig had finally shoved Gilbert back onto the couch, pinning his hands to the sides of his head with an entreaty to “Shut up, for God’s sake, Gilbert.” He certainly hadn’t expected it to work, or for Gilbert’s eyes to go wide, his whole body shuddering under Ludwig’s weight. He’d frozen, unsure of what this meant, yet unable to ignore the shiver that passed through his body in response, feeling Gilbert’s wrists shift under his hands.

They’d brushed it off, Gilbert muttering something like “Get off me, you ass, you’re heavy,” and determinedly not meeting his eyes when Ludwig offered him a hand to stand up.

His mind had kept returning to that short moment—to Gilbert’s sharp intake of breath, to the skin under his hands, to the long line of Gilbert’s torso stretched under him, familiar and suddenly so foreign. In the next few weeks, it had seemed like Gilbert had gone out of his way to be ever more obnoxious, pushing and pushing at him until manhandling Gilbert into line seemed like the only way to get some peace; nevertheless, Ludwig found himself shaken at how willingly he indulged Gilbert’s ridiculous behaviour, at the way that some part of him relished the feeling of Gilbert’s wrists clasped in his grip.

The sharp, demanding grin on Gilbert’s face, even now, tells him that whatever this is, it isn’t surrender—after all, Gilbert’s getting his way, getting what he wants, selfish as always. Knowing that makes it a little less strange—that after all, this is still his older brother, arrogant, aggravating and proud.

“West—fuck, _West._ God, let my hands go, want—need to touch you,” Gilbert’s voice is harsh and ragged, and oh, he’s so tempted to concede, but there’s another part of him, a whisper at the back of his mind, contrary and obstinate, that wants to see Gilbert utterly unmade. He mouths down Gilbert’s thigh to mask the dark blush that automatically rises to his face at the thought, shivering at the frustrated groan that seems to rip itself from Gilbert’s throat.

Gilbert’s thighs flex hard, as if to push at him, and he pins them down firmly, muttering, “Hold _still_ , Gilbert, honestly.”

Gilbert lets go a sudden curse at that, but he stills, muscles twitching under his skin, his breathing harsh and laboured.

Ludwig strokes up Gilbert’s thighs approvingly, and shifts forward to lick at his cock—and, oh, he can feel the muscle of Gilbert’s legs jump under his hands as Gilbert lets go a surprised shout. He pulls away for a moment to kiss lightly at the skin of Gilbert’s stomach, his belly shaking minutely under Ludwig’s lips, before taking him in, the weight of Gilbert’s cock solid and hot on his tongue. Some part of his mind can’t help but note how indecent this is, the lean lines of Gilbert’s legs spread and inviting, shaking slightly from the obvious effort not to move, his face turned into his arm, panting harshly.

The voice escaping his lips is a constant low litany of “Fuck, West, want you,” occasionally breaking slightly when Ludwig gives him a slow, hard lick. Gilbert’s back arches up when he sucks hard, his hips snapping forward; Ludwig throws an arm over his hips instinctively, holding him down, and god, Gilbert groans, low and wanting, his cock twitching against Ludwig’s tongue.

He’s absurdly, dizzyingly hard, and he has to press down on his pants, trying to keep some semblance of control.

He can feel Gilbert struggling not to thrust into his mouth, his body straining against his bonds and Ludwig’s hold, letting a muffled keen slip past his lips. The sound makes him fumble at his pants one-handed, clumsy and rushed, wrapping a hand around himself as he pulls away to mouth at Gilbert’s inner thighs, biting and sucking hard at his skin, panting slightly despite himself.

Gilbert seems to note this, giving a stuttering, gasping laugh. “Are- are you touching yourself, West? God, I want to see you, want to touch you, you have no idea—“ The end of his sentence dissolves into a desperate groan as Ludwig swallows him down again, the heavy heat in Ludwig’s mouth a counterpoint to the sweet, aching pressure pooling in his cock.

Ludwig pulls back again after a hard suck, and Gilbert lets go of a—Gilbert would forever deny that it’s a whimper, but it’s desperate and wanting enough to be. Ludwig rocks back onto his knees, his hands at Gilbert’s hips the only point of contact between the two of them. He runs his thumbs lightly along the edge of his hips, petting softly as Gilbert strains into his hands.

He slides up Gilbert’s body, running his hands along his chest and stroking his neck—Gilbert turns blindly towards his touch, trying to capture his mouth. Ludwig glides a hand along the smooth line of his jaw, instead. He grasps Gilbert’s chin in his other hand to kiss him, slow and deep; their tongues slide together, Gilbert nipping lightly and tugging at his lower lip, startling a moan out of him.

Ludwig mouths at Gilbert’s neck, quick bites and long strokes of his tongue that make Gilbert bite his lip, his hips jerking helplessly into the air—and god, that shouldn’t be nearly as arousing as it is. “Gilbert. Tell. Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck, want you, West—just, touch me, your hands—please—“ He’s all but writhing under Ludwig, shameless and hot.

He groans into Gilbert’s neck, reaching down to stroke at his cock, fast and hard, Gilbert panting “Fuck, yes, yes” into his ear, his hips jerking to meet Ludwig’s hand. Ludwig braces an arm across his chest, pinning him down—and he can feel Gilbert shake under him, a long, rippling shudder, as he comes in Ludwig’s hand, biting his own lip tightly. Ludwig’s breath catches slightly in his throat.

He wipes his hand on the covers distractedly, still feeling Gilbert’s body twitch with the aftershocks.

He reaches up, traces a finger lightly along Gilbert’s lips, shivering when he opens his mouth at Ludwig’s touch, and Ludwig can’t help but slip two fingers in, lightly petting his tongue. Gilbert curls his tongue around his digits, slick and hot, still panting against his skin.

Sighing against his neck, Ludwig reaches up to untie the rope, stroking slightly at Gilbert’s wrists as he slips them loose.

Gilbert promptly fists his hand into Ludwig’s hair, dragging him down to his mouth, his other hand running over Ludwig’s back and pulling him close, fingers digging into the muscles as if relishing their solidity. And, god, Ludwig’s still so hard, and he can’t help the twitch of his hips into the smooth groove of Gilbert’s hip. As Ludwig pulls back slightly, Gilbert takes off the blindfold, tossing it away haphazardly and kissing him again, grinning against his lips.

“Heh, I think I can take care of that,” he murmurs, sliding a hand between them and gripping him, tight and perfect. The calluses on Gilbert’s hands are a perfect, maddening friction against his skin, making him groan despite himself.

He can feel his arms shaking slightly, braced on his elbows on either side of Gilbert’s head, and he has to lean down and kiss him, hard and messy, the smooth movement of Gilbert’s hand pulling him over the edge, coming with his brother’s tongue inside his mouth.

Ludwig slumps on Gilbert, panting, and he can feel Gilbert’s chest vibrate slightly when he laughs, not unkindly, his hands roaming over Ludwig’s back. Ludwig tilts his head to kiss him again, a simple press of their lips together.

He’s sure that his brother would hit him for even thinking of calling him “beautiful,” but he can’t help but think of the word when his brother pulls back, smiling, bright and sharp and blinding. Ludwig can feel his face flush again, covering it by grasping the hand now running through his hair and kissing the palm, the strong fingers, the shifting tendons at the wrist.

“Are you—Was that all right?” He feels unsure in the aftermath, in the things unsaid but understood between the two of them.

Gilbert laughs, raking a hand through his hair and giving him a rueful look, his pale skin still flushed pink down his chest. “All right? Yeah, I guess you could fucking call it ‘all right.’” He grins sharply again and pulls him down to kiss him, deep and possessive, like he can’t get enough.

Pressed against each other, Ludwig can feel the both of them smiling.

Thinking upon it, Ludwig still isn’t quite sure what to make of this thing between them, what it means for them—though, if he’s honest, it doesn’t change much. Gilbert still evades chores, claiming to go and visit Arthur and coming back with ridiculous novelty gadgets that pile up in the living room and get in the way. Ludwig still makes breakfast on Sundays, Feliciano dropping by and chattering at the kitchen table about the restaurant he’d visited the other day and their variation on tortellini that they simply had to try. They still watch bad action movies with ludicrous explosions on Friday nights, Gilbert shouting advice at the screen and the dogs draped across half the couch, occasionally making attempts at the popcorn bowl.

And if Ludwig sometimes clasps a hand around Gilbert’s wrist, firm and tentative, feeling a rush of heat at the shiver he feels under Gilbert’s skin, well. That’s them, too.


End file.
